


A Simple Kiss Goodnight

by keerawa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Grief, Pre-Canon, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:11:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 137 nights since Mary died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Kiss Goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for [](http://write-light.livejournal.com/profile)[**write_light**](http://write-light.livejournal.com/) 's birthday. Probably nothing like you were hoping for, from this prompt, but hopefully it's better than a pair of stripey socks.  
> 

A baby was crying.

John sat on the bed, slowly sipping the three fingers of whiskey it took for him to get to sleep without seeing Mary burn, over and over. 137 nights now.

Dean tugged on his pants leg. “Sammy’s crying.”

John nodded absently, paging through his journal. Ifreet, poltergeists, demons, witches, elementals. All beings that could take human shape and were associated with fire. What was the thing that had killed Mary? How could he find it? How could he kill it?

Was it coming back?

“Daddy, I can’t get _in_ ,” Dean shrilled, on the verge of tears. He was standing by the crib, stretching to try and reach in through the bars.

Missouri had sent them to Pastor Jim. The man was meant to be an expert on spirits. He’d offered to put them up for the week. John didn’t approve of hand-outs, but going a week without spending money on gas and motel rooms meant there was more insurance money left over for protective talismans and building up an arsenal that might, just might, protect them from what was out there. The pastor had even produced a crib and pajamas for the boys, saying it wasn’t the first time he’d sheltered a family.

A family. Jesus.

John wandered over to the crib and looked down at Sam, still howling away. Kid was getting big. Maybe he was teething? John put his thumb over the lip of the whiskey bottle and up-ended it to wet the ball of his thumb. He carefully placed the bottle on the ground, reached into Sam’s mouth, and rubbed his thumb along the little guy’s gums.

Sam made a face. His wailing reached ear-shattering decibels.

Awwww hell. What now? John, struck by a sudden memory of home, bent over and brushed a kiss across Sam’s temple, murmuring, “Goodnight, Sammy.”

Sam choked and sniffled his way to silence, staring up at him. Dean was hovering anxiously. When John looked down at him, he rattled the bars of the crib like an inmate at the county lockup.

With a hoarse chuckle, John lifted him up and swung him into the crib. Dean immediately curled around his brother, kissing and whispering to him.

John leaned down, put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and kissed him on the forehead. “Goodnight, Dean-o,” he said.

Dean was trembling. “I’m not a baby,” the five year-old insisted.

“Yeah, I know,” John agreed softly. He couldn’t give his sons a home, or a mother, or a safe place to just be kids. But this, right now, he could do. John stroked firmly along Dean’s back until both his boys were asleep. Then he took a final swallow of whiskey, checked the salt lines, and went back to his journal.


End file.
